


The Meeting

by Systlin



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Because I'm writing it and I like those things, F/M, There will be violence and sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22230031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Systlin/pseuds/Systlin
Summary: As Din Djaren attempts to locate the Child's people, he runs into perhaps the lone remaining Jedi in the Galaxy.Din is not amused; this kid calling himself a 'Jedi' looks barely old enough to grow a beard yet, and there's no way he's just handing his new green son over to some wide-eyed and idealistic young idiot.I threw most of the new Disney trilogy out an airlock because I don't know that bitch the EU is where my heart lies. Canon has been gently slow-roasted at 225 and cherrypicked for good bits.
Relationships: Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Leia Organa/Han Solo, Mara Jade/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 104
Kudos: 542





	1. Chapter 1

A good thing, Din mused, about a life spent operating largely in the Outer Rim, was that one became well acquainted with worlds that Core society likely didn’t remember existed most of the time. The good thing about making one’s living as a _beroya_ on the Outer Rim was that one knew exactly where devious sorts liked to go to lay low and hide. A good bounty hunter knew how to think like their prey, and a Mandalorian knew that better than most.

  
_A Mandalorian is both hunter and prey._

  
Molavar was, by any estimation, a shithole. Possibly even more of a shithole than Tattooine, which was saying something. Only one sun, but many other things were similar. The climate; parched dry, with the native life-forms all hardy desert creatures and stunted tough waxy plants that clustered in the shade of rocks and around the rare bodies of water. The people; aside from the native Molavarans the planet was mostly inhabited by moisture farmers and miners. What cities there were were small, ramshackle and seedy places, mostly populated by transient and shifting groups of smugglers and various criminals.

  
But it was in the middle of nowhere and, most importantly, no one asked questions. That was rather a survival trait, given that probably a solid half of the various sentients in any given bar on Molavar were wanted by either the New Republic, the Hutts, or simply by one of the thousand crime lords who operated throughout the galaxy. Also very importantly, in his opinion, was the fact that Molavar had no Jawas.

  
Din was right at home in such a place.

  
He’d set the Razor’s Crest down in one of the bays of the seedy little spaceport. He didn’t even bother trying to get the child to stay put this time; he’d given up on that months ago. Instead, he caved immediately when the boy raised his tiny hands and trilled hopefully and hoisted the kid up into the jury-rigged _birikad_ he’d made out of a bit of canvas and a few spare straps. The child settled in happily in its place on his chest, looking around bright-eyed and gurgling happily.

  
The sack containing his latest acquisition bumped rhythmically against his thigh as he walked. His employer, when they’d been settling the details of the job, had made a few remarks about how strange it was for a man with a child in tow to not flinch from accepting a ‘wet’ bounty. But then, his employer was not _Mando’ad_. Din was not surprised that she didn’t understand.

  
To be quite honest, jobs where the client wanted the bounty brought in cold were somewhat easier to manage with a child in tow. Fewer uncertainties, and no need to wrangle a child and a target both.

  
The dusty little shithole of a spaceport town looked exactly the same as it had a week ago. Din ignored the eyes that turned towards him as he made his way to the bar near the ship docks. The boy trilled happily and waved at a Rodian slouching against a shaded wall, who looked blankly back with the vague, bloodshot eyes of a habitual spice user.

  
The interior of the cantina was cool after the broiling sun of the desert, a battered old air recycler wheezing asthmatically overhead. As was usually the case with shithole cantinas in shithole spaceport settlements on shithole planets, there was a decent crowd of patrons present, all various shades of disreputable. The noise of half a dozen species talking and arguing dropped off for a few moments as Din entered; a Mandalorian in full _beskar_ steel armor, after all, was hardly a common sight.

  
Din ignored all of them…or at least seemed to; he noted each one and assessed their threat potential automatically as he strode across the dusty floor to the bar…and tapped on the battered plastic of the bar.

  
The barkeeper was a wizened old man, apparently human, with no hair at all and two teeth left. He eyed Din warily. “Mando.”

  
“M’shayla.” Din said, without pleasantries. “Where is she?”

  
The old man jerked a thumb at a door tucked off in the back of the cantina, which presumably led to the rooms available for rent. “Third on the left.”

  
When he found his employer, she was neck deep in negotiations for what, Din gathered, was a not-inconsiderable amount of glitterstim with an old Nemoidian merchant. When her door swung open, M’shayla turned and grinned at the sight of him, the gold rings adorning her tusks glittering.

  
“Mando!” She spoke Basic better than most Whiphids Din had encountered. “If you are back, you must either have a present for me or bad news, I think.”

  
Din unclipped the bag from his belt and tossed it onto the table between the pair. M’shayla opened it and pulled out a hand, and then a second. Both were marked with distinctive swirling tattoos. M’shayla beamed at him.

  
“I suppose what they say is true.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a clinking bag. “Mandalorians are the best. Three other hunters, this one put down.” She sniffed at the hands on the table before her. “Your payment. Gold Huttese Peggats, good from here to the Core.” A chortle. “Even where credits won’t buy you a pot to piss in.”

  
Din took the bag and inclined his head, and turned to go.

  
“Wait!” That was the Nemoidian. Din paused, and turned slowly. He’d realized years ago that this seemed to unsettle most sentients. It worked now; Nemoidians tended to be nervous, and the one before him blinked rapidly as he stared into Din’s inscrutable helmet.

  
“The child.” The Nemoidian was still blinking rapidly. “Is it yours?”

  
“Yes.” Din said flatly, not inviting further questions. He started to turn away again. He had a resupply run to do, and then this rock to put behind him. He’d only come here in the first place because he’d been running low on funds, and that was fixed. He had more important things to be doing.

  
“Ah. Yes. It’s just…I’ve not seen one of his kind in many years. It is a surprise to see one now.”

  
Din paused. Turned back. Fixed his glare on the man. “You know his species?”

  
“Well. Ah. No. Not precisely. I’d not seen one of his kind in, oh, it must be nearly thirty standard years now. I must say, you seem a bit…ah…tall, for it to be yours.”

  
“Well, it is.” Din said coldly. “Where did you meet this being?"

  
“Meet? Ah. No. Not meet, but see, at least. Master Yoda was well known on Couruscant in those days.” More rapid blinking. “My uncle had dealings with the temple, to supply them with certain imports.”

  
Yoda. The name meant nothing to Din, but it was a lead. “And where is this Yoda now?”

  
A shrug. “Likely dead. Most of the Jedi are.”

  
Jedi. The Armorer had used that word too. A race of sorcerers, she’d said, who’d been enemy to the tribes in past times.  
It was a lead, at least. Din turned, and left.

* * *

Much later, back in the familiar territory of the Razor’s Crest, Din pulled up a shielded holonet link for himself while the child happily slurped down his dinner and cooed happily at the screen above Din’s bunk, which was playing some sort of colorful children’s program that Din had found after a few frantic ‘net searches for something that could keep the boy occupied while Din was busy.

  
Couruscant was, in Din’s opinion, the worst possible place in the galaxy. A few short years ago, it had been the center of Imperial space, and crawling with Imperial forces. Now it was the center of the fledgling New Republic, and crawling with Republic forces. Din had no particular issue working for either, but it was the nature of such politics-soaked places to try and pull you into taking sides, and as a rule bounty hunters were neutral.

  
If the Imperial remnants wanted the kid so badly, Din would put everything he owned on the Republic being just as eager to get their hands on the little womp rat. The Imperial remnants and the Republic had just recently been tearing up the galaxy in another clash of some sort; it had been well away from the parts of the Rim Din frequented, but he’d heard rumors of an Imperial Grand Admiral gathering the shattered Imperial fleet back together and making great gains against the young Republic.

  
Rumors had flown thick and fast in the fallout from that. There were about forty different variants on what had happened and how the Grand Admiral had either been assassinated, committed suicide in humiliation at his defeat, died in battle, been a clone of the Emperor, or any of three dozen other versions of the story. The only thing that they agreed on was that he’d been killed, and the rest of the Imperial fleet had fragmented and slunk back off to shadowed corners of the galaxy to lick their wounds once again.

  
The boy chirped and toddled over to pull at Din’s hand, pointing excitedly at the holovid. Din ruffled the kid’s ears fondly; the little ad’ika was a good kid, really. It wasn’t his fault that half the galaxy wanted him.

  
Yoda brought up nothing, but that didn’t mean too much. The Empire had purged the ‘net of a lot of records dating back to the Old Republic, and specifically those relating to anyone the Empire had considered an enemy of the state. Coruscant temple, however, brought up some old news articles about a Jedi temple, destroyed just as the Empire had established control over the core systems.

  
Hmmm. Well. That was a start, at least. Din leaned back against the bulkhead and rubbed at his chin, absently noting that he needed a shave.

  
He knew a handful of contacts who frequented Coruscant. Of those, three were old enough to have been alive during the pre-Empire Republic. Of those three, only one had been running smuggled goods to the Core back in the pre-Empire days.  
Well then. Dravian Starport it was, then.

* * *

Notes;

Beroya-bounty hunter  
Birikad-baby carrying harness


	2. Chapter 2

Before setting a course for Dravian Station, Din charted a course back to Nevarro.

Dravian station was a hotbed of smuggling, thieves, crime lords, and bounty hunters who worked outside the Guild. Din could handle all of these things perfectly well if he was alone, and had many times. But now, of course, he had a kid in tow, and a kid with a steep price tag on his head. He wasn't willing to wager on an entire spaceport of underworld operatives failing to know about the payday that came with the boy. He also knew that there were very few people he'd trust to have his back.

A whole one currently came to mind, as a matter of fact.

The hyperdrive trip to Nevarro took a couple standard days. Din had always rather liked the solitude of a long hyperspace jump; there was a certain meditative peace that came from having the time to go over his weapons and gear, strip everything down and clean it and polish it. And, of course, to catch up on sleep and check the 'net for any interesting new news.

That peace was a thing of the past now, with a small green agent of chaos in his care. Oh, sure. Din still got his gear checked and cleaned, and still got a chance to get himself in the 'fresher for a good shower and shave and trim. But having a solid twelve or thirteen hours to catch up on sleep after a tough job was...well. Not a thing any longer.

He wondered sometimes if this was how his parents...both his birth parents and the _mando'ade_ parents who'd adopted him...had felt when he was small. He wondered this particularly when he was trying to wrestle a small but surprisingly stubborn alien child into a bath, and found himself wearing half of the bathwater by the time he got the kid cleaned up.

But when he finally managed to get the kid settled and hit his own bunk, he was out in seconds. Being able to sleep anywhere and nearly any time was a survival skill that all warriors valued, and he'd learned it early and well.

Many folks had asked if he slept in his armor over the years. He'd answered them honestly; if other sentients were around, he did. Any Mandalorian could sleep in full armor. But it was nice to be able to get a little more comfortable.

Cara had asked him some time back how the _shavit_ he could take care of a kid without the kid ever seeing his face. “You've gotta shower sometimes,” she'd said. “I know you do. You'd smell like the laundry bin in my old barracks otherwise.”

He'd chuckled at that. “There are exceptions,” he'd told her. “With spouses and your children, it doesn't matter.”

She'd raised an eyebrow at that, and looked at the kid. “So,” she'd said. “Tell me. How ugly is he really?”

The kid had chirped happily and eaten a bug. Cara nodded sagely. “I knew it.”

He woke an indeterminate period of time later, feeling immensely better, to find the little womp rat curled up in a gently snoring little ball against his side, clutching the blanket Din had given him. Din glanced at the chrono readout on the datascreen near his bunk; he'd been out for just over six standard hours, and they had plenty of time yet before they'd be coming out of hyperspace. He also needed to visit the 'fresher.

He eased himself up very carefully, trying not to wake the kid. He failed; the little one made a sound of protest and blinked sleepily at him.

“I'll be right back,” Din told him. The boy chirped quietly, seeming to understand at least the intent. Din suspected that the kid understood more than he let on. He wasn't sure how much of this was an understanding of language yet and how much of it was an ability to sense Din's meaning with those strange abilities. The kid stretched sleepily and cooed, tucking his ears back tiredly.

He smiled despite himself. “You're _copikla,_ I'll give you that. I'll be right back.”

One visit to the vac later, and he was carefully settling back onto his bunk. He'd given up on trying to get the kid to stay in his pod. Din himself apparently made a much more satisfactory pillow.

Sure enough, the kid immediately tucked himself back into the crook of Din's arm, trilling sleepily, and was back out in seconds. Din closed his eyes, and was out again almost as fast.

* * *

Cara was _bored._

Playing bouncer and personal security for a branch of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild had _seemed_ like a great deal, but that had been three months of sitting on her ass ago. There were disappointingly few fights to break up; bad conduct like that tended to get one’s Guild privileges revoked. Most of the Guild hunters seemed to regard each other with a sort of polite suspicion, where the suspicion came from competition for jobs and the politeness from the fact that being impolite would result in _no_ jobs.

Din had been the one exception to that, apparently. The only one either brave or stubborn enough (or, knowing Din, both) to eye the entire Guild and say ‘kriff it’.

She’d remarked on that to Karga, who’d laughed. “It’s a Mando thing.” He’d said. “Every one of them is half mad. But they’re also competent enough to pull it off. You ever hear about what Fett did to the old Guild?”

“Boba Fett?” Cara raised her eyebrows over her glass of Corellian brandy. “I thought he was a free agent. Never heard he was affiliated with the old Guild.”

“He’s the _reason_ the old Guild fell apart.” Karga shrugged. “Joined solely to tear it apart and send it crashing down in flames, from what anyone can tell, and it worked. Severely thinned out his competition to boot, and Fett walked away without a scratch. Mandos.” Another shrug. “Fett’s been very clear on his contempt for our Guild, and doesn’t enjoy any protections against our members…but, well. He’s proven damned hard to kill. Not even becoming a Sarlacc snack managed it.”

“That was Skywalker.” Cara said absently. “And Organa. Skywalker always did have more luck than one man should, and I’d not get on Organa’s bad side for all the credits in the galaxy.” She’d heard the stories, filtered down through the Alliance rumor mill, and had automatically discounted a solid ninety five percent of the reports as a load of bantha shit. Of all the reports, though, she could _absolutely_ believe Organa strangling Jabba the Hutt to death with a chain.

“But anyway, our Mando is, of course, as competent as he is stubborn.” Karga said. “It seems to be a common trait in Mandalorians, for all there are fewer of them than there used to be.”

So, in other words, there wasn’t nearly as much excitement in working for the Guild outpost on Nevarro than she’d expected. It had been all right for the first couple weeks, but Cara was built for action, and in short order she was nearly climbing the walls. There wasn’t even a good back alley fighting pit to bust some heads in.

This was why, when the door opened and a familiar _beskar-_ steel clad figure walked in, she was thrilled. She dropped the hand of the Rodian she was arm wrestling, causing the bounty hunter’s hand to hit the table with a probably painful ‘thud’, and sauntered across the bar, doing her best to look casual. She was sure Din didn’t fall for it…he was a remarkably observant man…but she didn’t quite feel like letting on to the rest of the Guild how fond she was of him.

The kid wasn’t with him, which was probably wise. That whole escapade was still a sore spot with most of the other Guild hunters. Cara bumped her shoulder against his in a friendly fashion, and felt him lean into the motion just enough to let her feel him return it.

“My friend!” Karga said, spreading his hands wide. “Long time no see! Are you looking for work.”

“No.” Din’s voice was measured. He shifted his stance, just slightly, and rolled one shoulder. The motion could have been simply to work out a stiff muscle or resettle his armor, but Cara noted that it twitched back his cloak just a bit, and put his hand a bit nearer his blaster. She could feel the somewhat calculating pressure of the eyes of those members of the Guild currently drinking away their most recent paychecks as well as he could, and noted how the slight shift in stance gave him a good line to draw on basically anyone in the bar in a heartbeat.

Several other bounty hunters looked away. Smart of them.

His helmet turned towards her. “I need some backup.”

She shot back the rest of her brandy and grinned at him. “I’m in.”

A slight tilt of his helmet, which she’d learned indicated surprise. “You didn’t even ask…”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m losing my kriffing mind sitting around here on my ass. No offense, Karga, but you’re boring company.”

“If by that you mean no one has tried to shoot you in a few months, I suppose I am.” Karga looked bemused.

“That’s _exactly_ what I mean.” She raised an eyebrow at Din. “Give me two hours to get my kit together. You parked outside town?”

Din was regarding her silently, apparently bemused. “Yes.”

“Excellent.”

* * *

Copikla-cute, charming. Used only for children or animals; use this word for a Mandalorian woman and you're asking to get your head twisted off and have a drinking cup made from your skull. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Coruscant, Galactic Core, approx. 0510 in the morning._

Mara Jade woke to the sensation of lips against the back of her neck, moving slowly down along the line of her shoulder.

It was not an unpleasant sensation. Quite the opposite, really. But the _hour,_ when she reluctantly opened her eyes to squint at the chrono on the bedside table, _was._

“Skywalker,” she said, shutting her eyes again. “Do you have any idea what time it is.”

“Mm.” Luke made a vague sound against her skin. “Morning?”

Damn farmer schedule. “If the sun isn’t up, Skywalker, it is not _morning.”_ His lips continued their gentle exploration, and his hand slid over her hip. There was something poking against the back of her thigh that was _definitely_ not his lightsaber. Despite herself, she tilted her head back to give him a better angle. He took full advantage of it immediately.

She wondered vaguely if Palpatine’s force ghost or whatever was left of the Sith lord, wherever it was, could see this. She sincerely hoped he could. She hoped the bastard was _furious._

No one commanded Mara Jade any longer but Mara Jade. Palpatine had tried to force her to kill Luke Skywalker. Mara couldn’t think of a more pointed ‘kriff you’ to Sheev Palpatine than, well, kriffing Skywalker.

That was what she was telling herself, anyways. The alternative was to admit that she _liked_ Luke, for all his wide-eyed optimism and Outer Rim lack of sophistication.

Well. She supposed she liked a few things about him, at least. His hands, for example, were remarkably dexterous and skilled, as was his mouth.

He didn’t make any demands of her either, which was nice. He seemed perfectly happy to just accept what she was willing to give. She supposed being the lone Jedi in the New Republic didn’t leave him much time for serious relationships, and he _had_ been a soldier, and a member of Rogue Squadron besides. From what she’d heard from Antilles, the Rogue Squadron barracks had been an absolute _pit_ of debauchery after a mission that got the blood up. Mara could understand that; sometimes the best way to blow off extra adrenaline was to find a willing partner and kriff each other stupid.

 _You’re rationalizing it, Mara._ A treacherous little voice in her mind whispered. She firmly shut it up by rolling over, and then rolling them to straddle Skywalker and leaning down to bite his earlobe, not particularly gently. Luke made a very gratifying sound at that. Mara had meetings later with some of Karrde’s contacts to finalize some deals, and Luke no doubt had his own business to attend to, but they might as well get another go in first.

He kissed her. Luke was a _shockingly_ good kisser, and Mara _knew_ that he was using some form of Jedi breathing control sometimes. She doubted the Old Jedi Order would approve, but when he rolled them and slid down her body to put that mouth to very excellent use, she couldn’t find it in her to care. She fisted a hand into that mop of dark blond hair and _tugged;_ Luke moaned in a positively filthy way.

It probably said a lot about her, how very much she enjoyed watching Luke Skywalker, Hero of the Alliance and Jedi Knight, get absolutely _wrecked._ It probably said a lot about him that he seemed to enjoy it when she grabbed his hair and steered him where she wanted him. Mara refused to think on it too deeply.

His tongue was _very_ skilled. Mara wished dimly that she knew who exactly in the Alliance barracks had taught him to do this; she really ought to send them a nice gift basket. Then he used his teeth, very gently, and she stopped thinking about anything save how very good it felt.

She fell apart almost embarrassingly quickly, gasping and shuddering through the aftershocks. Luke looked up at her, chin on her thigh, looking exceptionally pleased with himself. She sat up and shoved him onto his back, and mounted him without preamble. He gasped hard as she slid down and wiggled her hips to get her bearings.

“ _Mara.”_ His voice was a little choked.

“Shut up.” She told him, eyes closed, and then arched her back and rode him like a stolen speeder bike.

There were probably very few beings in the galaxy who’d ever seen a Jedi beg. Mara was one of them, and she made him do it again now, much to her pleasure.

After, he tucked himself against her side drowsily. Her skin was sticking to his in the best possible way.

“You know,” She murmured. “I always kind of thought that Jedi were supposed to be superhuman, and here they fall asleep after a good kriff like anyone.”

A quiet snort of laughter. “So, you admit I’m a good kriff.”

“I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t, Skywalker. Shut up and go back to sleep. It’s still too damn early."

* * *

When Luke jerked upright out of a dead sleep, waking her a second time, Mara squinted again at the chrono. Seven twenty. Still too damn early.

“The hells, Skywalker.” She rolled over reluctantly. “You all right?”

Luke was staring off at something she couldn’t see. She wondered if it had been a bad dream; Luke certainly had more than his share of combat and trauma to show up in nightmares. Including, of course, recently fighting a mad Jedi clone, and his _own_ mad clone.

But that wasn’t the look of a nightmare. He was frowning intently at nothing, his eyes far away.

“Skywalker?”

“I need to go to Dagobah.” His voice held no doubt whatsoever.

“What for?”

“I don’t know.” His frown deepened. “But I need to be there, soon. There’s someone there I need to…help? Meet?” A shake of his head. “I can’t tell. But I need to go, sometime soon. Not today, but…soon.” A glance down at her, rueful. “Sorry for waking you again. I’ll go put on some caf.”

Mara yawned. Premonitions through the Force were, she supposed, part and parcel of being friends with and now and then sleeping with a Jedi. “Best idea you’ve had yet today, Skywalker.”

* * *

_Nevarro, Outer Rim_

It only actually took Cara an hour before she showed up at the _Razor Crest’s_ hatch, her gear slung over a shoulder. The child chirped happily and patted at her shins as she commandeered a storage closet to roll out her bedding and get settled. Cara seemed a little unsure of how to act around a small child, but awkwardly patted the fuzzy little green head, drawing a stream of happy and unintelligible babble.

“You got it, buddy.” She told the kid, as she stowed a couple backup medkits in an old metal container at the foot of her bedroll. Din smiled to himself under his helmet.

“So.” He said, from his spot leaning against the wall of the cargo hold. “Are you going to ask what the job is, or not?”

“Well.” She sat back on her heels. “You weren’t interested in picking up work, so I’m assuming either you’ve got work lined up and need someone to watch your ass, or there’s some sort of shithole you’re heading to and you need someone to watch your ass.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “And since it’s a shapely ass, I can’t say either one would be objectionable.”

Ah. Well. Din elected to ignore that last bit; Cara seemed to flirt simply for the fun of it, with any attractive nearby sentients. “Dravian station.” He said simply. “I’ve a contact there who might know something about his people.” A nod at the child. “But, well. It’s a rough place, and there’s still a bounty out for him.” That rankled deep; one of the imps must have gotten away and met up with whatever imperial remnant was left in the sector. “It’s not registered with the Guild any longer…”

“But there are plenty of folks out there who don’t go through the Guild.” Cara finished grimly. “And Dravian has a rough crowd. Yeah. So you need someone to watch your back.”

He nodded.

“Well, beats sitting around with a thumb up my ass.” She finished settling things to her satisfaction and plopped back with a sigh, kicking her boots up on the metal storage container. The boy promptly climbed onto her chest to hold up the knob from the hyperdrive controls proudly. “Hey buddy.” She winced and resettled him a bit. “Easy there. You’ve got sharp little toe claws, and those are sensitive.”

Din felt a momentary and ridiculous flash of envy as the kid snuggled up against Cara’s chest, admiring his toy. Cara’s chest, after all, looked like an eminently comfortable place to recline.

He mentally kicked his libido in the shin and told it sternly to shut up and behave. _Gar’re n’skotah iisa di’kut ad, Din._

“He likes you.” He observed.

“He’s got good taste.” Cara said. “I’m pretty great, if I do say so myself.”

Din chuffed out a soft laugh. “If you’re set, I’ll go get us in the air. Come on up and strap in.”

Dustoff went smoothly. After the _Razor’s Crest_ was in hyperspace, Din headed down to the cabin, Cara following.

“So…” She hesitated a moment. “Din? Can I call you Din? It seems wrong to just call you ‘Mando’. What do your people call each other, anyway?”

“Din’s fine. We use our names. It’s my family name that wasn’t used.”

“Why not?” She sounded genuinely curious.

Din hesitated, trying to figure out how to explain it to someone who was not _Mando’ad._ “It’s…unimportant. For a foundling, the only reason to remember their old family name is to try and find any surviving family. So, the names are recorded, but once your _buir_ takes you in, it’s not important any longer.” He lifted a shoulder. “Save to you, so that you don’t forget to honor them. I didn’t have any surviving blood family, and I stayed.”

“Oh.” That seemed to satisfy her. “So, what’s the job exactly? She made a beeline to the tiny galley and started rummaging through his food stores, and fished some caf out.

“It seems there used to be a member of the kid’s species on Coruscant in the last days of the Old Republic, and was pretty well known at the time.” Din leaned against the bulkhead as she put caf on to brew. The boy toddled in after them, talking happy baby nonsense to himself and rolling the knob of the hyperspace lever around on the floor. “A Master Yoda, apparently, affiliated with a Jedi temple there. Any information on him has been scrubbed from the ‘net. Ordo Karr is my contact. He’s a smuggler, and ran goods to Coruscant back in the days before and during the Clone Wars.”

Cara nodded thoughtfully. “Y’know, I used to hear stories of Jedi sometimes as a kid. Never met one. I don’t think there were ever many of them. The Old Republic used them as diplomats and as a heavy club to smash anything that annoyed them, from what I can tell. Spooky bunch of warrior monks, if half the stories I’ve heard are true. Vader is supposed to be one who went rogue.” There was a dark look on her face, and her lip curled.

Vader. Din flinched. The stories of Vader, if even a fraction of them were true, were a horror.

“He was there,” Cara said abruptly. “Vader was there. At Alderaan. I wish…” A long silence, and a muscle worked in her jaw. “I wish I’d been able to see him die.” Another pause. “There were a lot of us in the Alliance. You know. Those of us who were off-world when it happened. I knew a few who defected from the Imperial Navy because of it.”

“I’m sorry.” Din said, after another long pause, because he didn’t know what else to say.

Cara shook her head. “I went back to the Graveyard once.” She said after a moment. “I’ll never go again.” She turned abruptly as the beep on the reheater signaled her food was done.

“Anyway.” Her voice was brisk, obviously forced. “Dravian shouldn’t be a problem. So! If we’re gonna be stuck together in here for a few days…Din, you know how to play sabacc? I’ve got a deck of cards in my gear.”

Din made a slightly offended sound. “Of course I can. Get the cards.”

* * *

_Gar’re n’skotah iisa di’kut ad=_ You’re no short-fused idiot youngster.

_Buir;_ parent


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din is just a simple introvert, okay, he is Not Used to having people on his ship who aren't in blocks of carbonite. Also, Cara saddles her up a Mando'ad and takes him for a RIDE

By day three in hyperspace, Cara was climbing the walls.

This did not particularly surprise Din, who’d been on longer hyperspace trips with her before. Cara did not like sitting still for long, and she’d already been sitting around for several months on Nevarro. Even on Sorgan, she’d promptly found herself a fighting ring to bust heads in.

The problem was, of course, that the _Razor Crest_ was not a large ship, and a week in hyperspace was a _long_ time when you were trapped in a small space with an increasingly fidgety ex-shock trooper and a very curious toddler. You could only play so much sabacc for imaginary stakes and arm wrestle so many times before it got boring.

Din would have used the time sleeping or reading; his gear was already in pristine shape. And, to be fair, with Cara around to keep an eye on the kid, he _was_ able to close off his bunk and sleep peacefully, but you could only do _that_ for so long.

He offered her the full use of the folding workbench and his gun oil and tools; this distracted her for a solid day while she went over her _own_ gear to her satisfaction. But that was done by the end of day three, which meant that they still had a solid four standard days in hyperspace with an increasingly bored Cara.

She found him up in the cockpit. He had his chair tipped back, and his boots up on the edge of the console (carefully away from any buttons.) The kid was napping, tucked into the crook of his arm, and he was reading on a datapad.

“Dune” He greeted her, as she spun the copilot’s chair around and sat on it backwards, her arms crossed on the back. “Thought you were showering.”

“That was six hours ago.” She raised an eyebrow. “I did that, took a nap, got something to eat, and _now_ I’m here. What you doing?”

“Reading.”

“Reading what?”

“A book.”

A sigh. “It’s like having a conversation with a wall, I swear.”

He nodded at the console behind her. “There’s another datapad over there if you want to use it.”

“Nah. You wanna kriff?”

Din nearly had a heart attack on the spot. He dropped the datapad, wheezing around a choked off exclamation, and the kid woke with a questioning chirp.

“I mean.” Cara continued, seemingly unfazed by this. “You can leave the helmet on and all, that’s fine. But you said it was your face no one could see, right? So all the other bits of you are fine, right?”

He stared at her, mouth open, gaping. Inside his helmet, a red light blinked, helpfully informing him that his pulse had just spiked. He blinked twice at it to dismiss it. “ _What?”_

“Kriff. Hump. Hide the blaster. The beast with two backs. The ol’ Bunk Bump. _Fuck,_ Din. _Fuck._ ” She made an illustrative and extremely lewd gesture with her hands. “It’s not like we have anything else to do, cooped up in here, and it could be fun.”

“I…” His voice sounded weak even to himself.

“Unless you’re not into women, which is fine, I get that….”

“I.” He wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose, but settled for letting his helmet fall back against his chair with a faint _thump._ His body, the traitor, was making it known that it considered Cara’s suggestion an excellent one. “I…no, I like women fine, Cara…”

“Great! So like, can you get the kid back to sleep, or…”

“ _I don’t want to make this weird.”_ He managed at last. “Cara…I like you. I enjoy your company. But I don’t want to….you know.” He made a vague gesture; he knew he was blushing furiously under his armor, and was very glad she couldn’t tell. “ _Shabiir_.”

She looked at him quizzically, and he realized he’d slipped into Mando’a for that last bit. “Fuck up.” He translated. “Fuck it up. This. Us. Being friends.”

“Oh.” She smiled, and then to his surprise and discomfort started laughing.

“What?” He said, bristling. The kid patted his chest and cooed in a vaguely worried tone, presumably picking up on just how out of his depth he felt. “ _What?”_

“Haven’t you ever, y’know, just fucked a friend? Because you liked each other and wanted to blow off steam?” She shook her head. “Don’t answer that, I know you’re about to say no. It doesn’t have to _mean_ anything, Din. It’s just…hells. Just fun, y’know?”

He stared at her, at a loss for words. He _had,_ but it was more usually with people who were, at best, tenuous allies, and in those cases he didn’t much care if they liked or hated him a week down the road. Sometimes he’d done exactly what she described, with other _Mando’ade,_ but that was _different._

 _It’s not really._ Said a traitorous little voice in the back of his head. _You’ve fought alongside her, haven’t you? You trust her to have your back, right?_

“It’s fine.” She shrugged. “If you don’t. The offer stands, but I’m not gonna pressure you. Just thought it might be fun, y’know? Doesn’t have to mean anything. Just fun. I promise I won’t hate you in the morning, unless you’re really, _really_ bad in bed.”

A little spark of indignation, and the scales tipped. He stood up very quickly, the kid protesting as Din scooped him up. “You’re on.”

“I just….what?”

“You’re _on.”_

She _grinned,_ a wide grin that, paired with the spark in her eyes, gave her an almost feral look. His body was already re-routing blood south, and that expression only sped the process up.

The kid babbled something incoherent, and the moment was gone. “After I get him back to sleep, you’re on.” He amended. Cara snorted.

* * *

It was not easy, to convince the kid to go back to sleep. He’d had a nice nap on Din, and upon waking up seemed to be more than ready to toddle around and play and get into things and generally do anything _except_ go back to sleep.

In the end, it was eight hours, a bath, and dinner later when the kid finally settled down in his pod, sucking on the edge of his blanket and cuddling a stuffed cloth frog that Cara had given him. It was, Din had to admit, very cute, but his nerves were strung so tight at that point that he couldn’t really appreciate it. His blood hadn’t really been reaching his brain since Cara’s offer.

 _This is a bad idea._ His rational brain was saying. That was mostly drowned out by the less rational part of his brain that really, really wanted to see Cara naked. He’d had dreams that featured naked Cara. He’d had a couple furtive fantasies in his bunk that featured naked Cara too, for that matter.

And then Cara grabbed him by the chest plate, pushed him up against the wall, and started clawing at his clothes like a woman possessed, and the rest of his blood rerouted from his brain directly to his dick.

“I have a contraceptive implant,” she informed him, feverishly trying to figure out how the latches on his armor worked. He helped her, annoyed to find that _his_ hands were shaking. “And a clean scan, but if you want…”

“Clean.” Din said. Words weren’t a priority at the moment. “I’m clean.”

“Oh, _good,”_ she said, and then found bare skin as he unbuttoned his _kutes_ and licked along his collarbone to nip at the skin of his neck.

_Shab._

Cara grinned against his skin at the sound he made. “Been a little while, has it?”

How long had it been? Three years? Four? He couldn’t remember precisely. “Yeah.” He agreed, his voice strained. “Longer than a little while.”

“You gonna remember how everything works?”

Instead of answering, he reached for her. She was not wearing her armor, which made things much easier. She let him pull her shirt up and off, and smirked as he made a soft, strangled sound at the sight of her in a sports bra.

“I knew it.” She said. “I knew you were a tits man.”

He was fond of the entire package, and the delightful way it was put together, but saying that would take _time,_ which could be much better spent getting his _own_ armor the rest of the way off.

They left a trail of armor and clothes and weapons all the way to his bunk. She had his shirt off and his pants unsnapped when he backed her up until her knees hit the edge and she sprawled backwards. She had excellent reflexes, though, and managed to hook his legs out so that he sprawled right down on top of her.

There was not much room in his bunk to maneuver. It would have perhaps been smarter to stand back up to get his pants and Cara’s bra off, but that would involve taking his hands off of her skin, and that was completely unacceptable.

She was _breathtaking._ Her skin was soft, paler than her face and hands where the sun touched it. Cara was groping his ass like her life depended on it, and making very appreciative sounds. Din’s pulse was roaring in his ears, and he had to shut the HUD in his helmet down because it wouldn’t fucking stop _blinking_ at him, telling him that his pulse and respiration rates were spiking.

He found the hooks at the front of her bra, and worked them open. The bra fell open, and he made a sound halfway between a groan and a whine. Her breasts were _magnificent,_ and when he touched one, gently, she made a noise that burned the rest of the world around him to ash.

Her hands moved around from his ass. He was hard; of fucking _course_ he was, and when she found his cock and stroked, experimentally, his vision whited out for a second. He knew he must have made some sort of noise, but damned if he could have remembered what it was.

“ _Fuck,_ Din.” She breathed the words, and _shab_ but _that_ was a memory that he was going to replay often. “That a blaster in your pocket or you just happy to see me?”

As gone as he already was, that cut through. He stopped his hand, halfway down her torso, and tilted his head at her. “Really?”

She grinned, not sorry a bit. “You were sounding like you were about to shoot off any second. Figured I’d best distract you. But it is a _nice_ blaster, I’ll give you that.”

He huffed, indignant, and moved his hand again. She was, he found, already wet, and the haze of heat roared up again when her breath caught and she rocked her hips into his touch.

Cara locked her legs around his hips, twisted, and suddenly she was on top and pulling his pants down. Din raised his hips to help her; as soon as they were off she straddled him, planting her hands on his chest and looking down at him with that bright, feral grin again.

“Oh, but you look _good_ like this.” She said. “Din, you know it is a _crime_ that you hide this under so much armor all the time.” She wet her lips, and he got the distinct impression that she wanted to kiss him. She did, but on the neck, and the few remaining parts of his brain that were functioning shut off.

It had been a _long_ time since he’d been this naked in front of…well, just about anyone, really. The touch of bare skin on bare skin was strange and exhilarating, and instead of saying anything he got ahold of her leg, bucked up off his bunk with his hips and back, and flipped them again. Got a knee in between her legs; she hooked her ankles around the small of his back happily, and then…

_….shab._

“ _Fuck,”_ Cara agreed, in a half moan that burned into him like blaster fire. She felt even better than he’d imagined, and he’d imagined pretty hard. He moved, experimentally, and she made some sounds that weren’t words at all, and dug her fingers into his hips to try to get him to move faster.

He did. There wasn’t any coherent thought after that; just panting, heat, the slick slide of her, and the _obscene_ way she moaned his name when he hit just the right spot, which went right from his ears to his cock. He did it again, and her fingernails bit into his shoulders and she _whined,_ almost desperately.

Again, again, _again,_ and then her back came up off his bunk, her thighs tightened around his hips, and her nails were going to leave marks, but he barely felt them, because she clenched tight around him and dragged him right over the peak with her.

He went limp, boneless as aftershocks tingled up his spine, and Cara went just as limp, panting. He managed to roll them so that he wasn't crushing her, and then just lay there for a bit. His breathing evened out, slowly, and he wondered vaguely if it would be rude to doze off right then and there.

“Well.” Cara said at last, sounding very pleased with herself. “See? That was fun.”

“Fun.” Din said faintly. That seemed a wholly inadequate word for what had just happened. “Yeah. Yeah, you were right.”

“Of course I am. Hey, so. The helmet staying on is fine, but would a blindfold work too? Because if it would, next time we do this I have some ideas.”

 _Next time._ There was no way that he could possibly get hard again this quickly, but his cock gave an interested sort of twitch at the idea. It wasn’t fair, really, suggesting such things at that moment; he would have agreed to nearly anything she asked of him, and he really couldn’t fault her logic. “I don’t see why not,” he said cautiously. The code forbade others seeing his face, after all…

“Oh, good. Because I bet you can do some interesting things with your mouth, too.”

That sounded like an excellent idea, and he was about to say so when a questioning trill came from the direction of the kid’s pod, and Din realized with an unpleasant jolt that they had not been particularly quiet. They both froze.

“Oh.” Said Cara. “Oops.”

And then there was a distinct sound of little claws on durasteel as the kid started to climb out of his pod, and they both scrambled madly for their pants.

* * *

_Shab-_ fuck


End file.
